Pieces of Bright
by Cloud Traveler
Summary: The way leading up to the founding of Konoha with a different twist and a different ending. Fate is but a word; the decisions of a few can change the outcome for many. HashiMada/MadaHashi and possible side-pairings.
1. Children Lost

**Children Lost**

Another one dead.

Ayane held her sister in her arms, listening silently to the guttural cries of sorrow, feeling the tears soak into her clothes while two hands clung to her as if she were a lifeline. She knew her children were in the other room, perfectly able to hear their aunt weeping for her lost son – their lost cousin, taken by war.

A feeling of dread settled over Ayane as she tried comforting her sister to the best of her ability, gently rubbing her back while the girl sobbed, nigh inconsolable. She stared out the nearby window; watching reds, oranges and yellows reach out over the sky as the sun sunk down behind the forest surrounding their small village. The last streams of light fell through the glass, into the room, coloring their white hair with a shade of yellow as the sisters were seated on the floor – it was cold. Those last rays felt strangely cruel then, as if the world was mocking their grief by showcasing its radiance.

"Kotone?" the oldest sibling spoke hesitantly, waiting for the stifled cries to die down to an even softer sniveling as the young woman pulled back from the embrace slightly. They looked so much alike, though Ayane's hair had always been longer and thicker than Kotone's, whose own hair was often unruly and spiky. There was another more notable difference; where Kotone's narrow eyes were black as ebony, Ayane's almond ones were wine red – something her second oldest son had inherited as well. But even with that difference, oddly enough, Tobirama had taken far more to his aunt than his mother, let alone his father

"I-I know, I… I need to leave." Kotone didn't meet her sister's apprehensive gaze, taking a deep, shaky breath as she slowly stood up, supported by Ayane who cast her a worried look.

"It's getting late; if you want you could stay here for the night. I'm sure Butsuma wouldn't mind–"

"Oh, no, don't worry about me. You have your own kids to take care of. I'll be fine."

"Kotone–" she tried again, but her younger sister wouldn't budge, responding with a meaningless smile instead. Ayane sighed wearily, knowing the girl had made her decision, and resolved to escort her out instead – halfheartedly attempting to make her stay as she did, even though she knew Kotone wouldn't. She watched as her sister put on her shoes again, whispering a quick goodbye before leaving through the front door without waiting for a response, or even making eye-contact.

By that time the sky had gotten darker already; the bright colors stretching out above having faded into a mellow blue, blots of grey clouds covering most of the stars so that not even the brightest one of all could break through.

Kotone walked quickly, folding her arms tightly, her shoulders curved inwards as if she were protecting herself from a bleak wind that wasn't even blowing.

Ayane stood as if frozen in time, and watched until the speck of white disappeared around the corner. The feeling of dread in her chest intensified as she thought of her nephew, knowing she'd never see the exuberant boy again.

"Mother?"

She turned around at hearing the quiet voice of her eldest child, closing the front door and peering into the hallway as she did. The young one, covered in the shadows of the dark corridor, seemed hesitant to approach her, staring up at her with a fretful, questioning look in his smoky black eyes. Ayane couldn't bring herself to smile reassuringly like she usually did when one of her children was troubled or upset. Instead she closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts, and put her distressed heart at ease.

"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked gently, her son approaching her almost cautiously when hearing the weariness in her tone. She kneeled down to his level, brushing a few locks of his thick hair out of his face as he gazed at her with worry.

"Is… is aunt Kotone going to be alright?" he asked quietly, her hands lowering down to softly grip his still small shoulders. She slowly opened her mouth to say yes – but her voice was lost to her as she stared into her son's eyes, and she slowly pressed her lips together in a thin line, averting her gaze from his troubled look.

"I don't know, Hashirama." Ayane eventually spoke in a soft whisper, her depression evident in her tone. Her eldest remained quiet for a time, regarding her facial expression as he seemed to ponder about what to say – carrying himself with more composure and poise than the average adult.

"Shuji is dead, isn't he?"

Ayane looked at him in shock, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes – not only for the death of her nephew, but because she couldn't tell her son a white lie to set him at ease. He knew too much; too much of death and war and sorrow to be fooled by fiction. He'd seen people die right in front of him. Disillusioned as he was, even at such a young age, the comfort of lies was ultimately lost on him. He only knew truth; no matter how appalling or excruciating or ruthless it was.

"Yes," she whispered, choking back a sob as she closed her eyes, a few tears escaping to drop down on the floor. Her hands gripped Hashirama's shoulders even harder while she tried to calm herself down to no avail – until he grabbed her right hand and pulled it into his own, holding it firmly. She met his sad gaze with bemusement at the sudden gesture.

"It's alright, mother." he said quietly; already taught not to shed tears. "Now he can rest."

That was where she broke down, hugging him firmly as to hide her face from him while she cried.

She had not lost any of her sons, but she knew it would inevitably happen if they kept going down this same road. She'd seen it happen to countless of other families – and she just _couldn't_ stand the thought of it. The lives of these children she'd brought on this world were the most precious things in the world to her. She'd loved and cared for them with all her heart even when they'd just been growing in her womb, so how was she supposed to accept the likely fact that they would die in yet another worthless battle?

She didn't know how she could convince her husband to stop – stuck in the ways of an old, stubborn shinobi past his prime – but she _had _to try. If there was a way, she would find it. She had to; before they were all lost to death, just like their cousin.

* * *

Only three left.

Everyone else seemed to accept it as it was. It was unfortunate, and tragic, and everyone did feel for them and their family – but they should take their grief and turn it into anger against the Senju for taking another child away from them. That was what Tajima said, right after the funeral.

He'd stared her right in the eyes and had told her to send their sons off to _more _war, in spite of having just had to bury their youngest.

Masami wanted to scream at him. '_They are your children as well! How could you?! How _could _you let this happen?!' _But she said nothing, grieving silently and alone.

Still, even in her silence, her scorn for his actions was palpable. She blamed him with every glance she gave, every gesture she made, and every movement to look away in visible disgust and anger. He _should've_ watched over them more carefully. He _should've_ kept them safe. He _should've_ protected them. He'd failed – and now two of their sons were buried six feet deep in a hastily made wooden coffin to never return to them again and rot until their bones turned into dust; forgotten by the world, and forever lost.

Her eldest blamed himself – she'd tried to talk him out of it, but he was too stubborn to listen. Nothing she'd said had soothed him. After all, she didn't know what it was like on the battlefield; she didn't know what they saw day in and day out and the things they'd had to do to survive – so the words of comfort Masami would offer him always rang hollow to Madara's ears. He did not accept her excuses; he had failed in protecting them, and that was the truth.

Izuna tried to remain strong, however difficult it was. So set on following his older brother's example, for his mother's sake, but he was simply not hardened enough to keep up the act for long. He was the youngest now, and he wasn't dealing with it very well.

Kazuki, the middle child, could only be angry at everyone. First at himself for not doing anything to stop it, then at his father for not being there when they needed him most, at his older brother for not protecting their siblings, at Izuna for crying to the point where he felt like crying too, and at Masami, for allowing her children to be sent off to meet the depravity of war when she'd known the consequences.

Madara was guilt-ridden while Izuna grieved and Kazuki seethed.

Masami, heart burning holes through her chest as her anxiety only grew at the thought of losing another one of her sons, was desperately looking for a solution.

The only option she had, was to convince Tajima to cease this war and look for a peace treaty with the Senju.

A mother's love could not be measured; her grief even less so. If her love could make her move mountains, her sorrow would help her break them down. For her children, she would do whatever it took to have them survive. She did not care for whatever grudge her clan had built against the Senju, she did not care for the history of strife between them, she did not care about the possibly long-term disastrous ramifications if the peace treaty should fail – she only wanted to keep her children alive.

If they would label her a traitor for that, so be it. If they would call her foolish and thoughtless for it, so be it. It was worth anything, anything in the world, and she would sacrifice anything and everything and nothing less – if only, to give her sons a chance of escaping this madness of war tearing everything in its path apart. If only, even for a day, comfort and peace; happiness. Even for a day.

* * *

Hashirama had left.

He did that often. Said he'd take a walk, unwind in the forest; no one really knew _what _he was doing there, but they figured the kid could keep himself safe and so no one really questioned him about it. He probably just needed some time alone. No one could really blame him.

Tobirama, on the other hand, was upset.

Well, he was _brooding_. He'd told his brother that, just maybe, it wasn't a good idea to go out when there were rumors of shinobi from the Hagoromo clan closing in on their territory. Hashirama had brushed it off, stating he'd be back in a five minutes. Ten had passed and he still wasn't back.

That was when their father had barged in and told them to get ready for yet another battle. They were going off to war and they'd barely gotten time to prepare at all. When Hashirama finally returned, he seemed already aware of what was going on and entirely unsurprised. He received a firm scolding from his father, but otherwise, the routine resumed.

Kawarama was distracted. Tobirama noticed this immediately as his younger brother seemed to fret more over Itama – who was still unfocused because of their cousin's death – instead of mentally preparing himself as he helped the youngest put on his armor. Tobirama's brain raised a red flag – '_He'll get killed_,' – but he didn't act on it. Perhaps he wanted to believe it would be alright, or perhaps worrying about it was pointless altogether, but he remained quiet as he put his own armor on.

The routine continued.

Hashirama pondered about his meeting with the boy from the other side; Madara. He wondered if he'd see him on the other side of the war as well – and he hoped it wouldn't be so, but it seemed to be inevitable that they should eventually meet in battle as they were from different clans.

The door to the weapon room slid open with a loud bang.

The routine was interrupted.

Butsuma turned to look at his wife in slight surprise, as the woman had always made a point of staying as far away from this room as possible. But today, she stepped inside with a determined look, her thin eyebrows furrowed in a deep, almost angry, frown.

"Is something wrong, mother?" Hashirama asked before his father could even get a word out. The woman brushed a lock of her white hair behind her ear, taking a deep breath.

"You're staying here."

The routine was destroyed.

Everyone was frozen for a tense moment, before the anger in Butsuma's eyes flared – but this time, Ayane did not back down like she usually did. In fact, she seemed all the more resolute for it.

"What did you–"

"They're staying here!" she repeated even louder, and no one could remember the last time the otherwise quiet woman had spoken up this firmly, if at all. Butsuma was dumbstruck at his wife's sudden outspokenness, so much so he was at a loss for words.

Tobirama glanced from his father's face – which grew angrier with the minute – to his mother's eyes – which seemed set and unmovable from their goal – and tried to diffuse the situation. "Mother, that's hardly possible with our enemy so close to our village–"

"Have you lost your mind?!" Butsuma exclaimed in interruption, clearly outraged that she'd dared to actually undermine his authority. But Ayane did not even flinch. Instead she _glared _at him. Yet in between all the anger and determination, there was something far more palpable and far stronger glinting in her eyes. Fear.

"Have you lost _yours_? Even after so many have already died you want to keep sending your sons off to war?!"

"We are shinobi; this is our duty!"

"They're _children_!" Ayane's breath had grown heavy as she stared him right in the eyes, unperturbed by her husband's ire, which completely threw him out of his normal composure. "How could you–" A loud smack resounded through the room. Ayane cringed, her cheek slowly turning red though she kept on gazing up at him – her eyes drilling holes through his soul and he was completely lost on what to do.

Itama wanted to reach out to his mother but Kawarama kept him back as the situation was far too delicate for them to interfere like that. Mother was doing this for their sake on her own accord and she'd carry the burden of father's anger on her own as well. They had to stay out of it.

The same thought went through Tobirama's head, but for Hashirama, it was getting harder and harder to stay quiet.

She took a deep breath. "I… I didn't have the courage to do something about this before – or perhaps I was actually foolish enough to believe that this was how things were supposed to be, but ever since Shuji died… I'd never forgive myself if I let the same thing happen to one of my sons."

Butsuma grew enraged at her words – at her unwavering stare. "I'm their father and I've decided that they're going!"

"I'm their mother and I say _they're staying_! _You _did not give birth to any of them!"

He raised his hand again – this time, he wouldn't hold back.

"We'll go!" Hashirama quickly moved, standing in between his parents, facing his father with his back turned towards his mother. "Tobirama and I will go, but maybe Kawarama and Itama should just stay behind." he suggested carefully, glancing at his two youngest brothers.

"Boys–"

"What are you–"

"Father, they're not all that skilled anyway!" Tobirama intervened, standing next to his older brother as their mother started getting teary-eyed and the youngest two siblings were flabbergasted. He was trying to keep his father from exploding. "They'd surely get killed before even becoming strong enough to help at all."

Butsuma was silent for a long time, Ayane struggling with the bittersweet clash of relief and concern as her two youngest could be safe this once – in exchange for her two oldest.

The man eventually, after a long, tense silence, closed his eyes and nodded stiffly, Ayane letting out a shaky breath as she knelt down to pull her two oldest in a tight embrace. Their father marched out of the room, the two boys reluctantly pulling back from their mother's warm hug to follow in his footsteps.

Kawarama gaped at them as they left, then glancing over to Itama who seemed just as confused as he was. "What the hell just happened?"

* * *

Hashirama gazed down at the slow stream of clear water in front of him, a deeply contemplative look fixed on the reflection of the trees in the river as he pondered the recent events.

"Yo, long time no see, um…." He didn't even need to look behind him to know it was the boy from last time; Madara.

"It's Hashirama." he mumbled, his thoughts still elsewhere.

"Man… sulking before I even show up…."

"I'm not sulking." Hashirama replied dryly, frowning now as he remembered the look in his mother's eyes as she'd yelled at their father for the first time.

"What are you thinking about then?"

"It's… not all that important–"

"Seems pretty important to me."

"Don't worry about it, it's just… family stuff."

"What kind of family stuff?"

"It's nothing, really–"

"Fine. Then don't tell me. See if _I _care." There was a silence that lasted for several seconds. "Are you going to tell me or not, dammit?!"

Hashirama sighed, turning to look at the impatient boy for a moment before he told him what had occurred between his parents a few days ago. Madara listened intently, seeming just as surprised as Hashirama had felt in that moment.

"She has some guts, speaking up like that." He paused, seeming a little hesitant for a moment. "My mother actually did something similar. She made my father put my two youngest brothers in the back-up group. If she hadn't done that… I'm pretty sure one of them would be dead now."

Hashirama stayed silent as he regarded the thoughtful look on the other boy's face.

"I never thought she could've pulled that off." Madara continued, picking up a small pebble from the ground. "She even went around the other day to speak with others about the war. Usually no one would've listened to her, but she was so passionate and commanding – turns out most people are getting pretty sick of this way of life as well. Everyone has lost something to it, after all."

"Do you think it'll lead to anything?" Hashirama inquired curiously – hopefully – as Madara stared at the pebble in his hand for a moment.

"I used to think it was impossible, but after seeing how many people were honestly tired with it all… maybe it will lead to something. Perhaps even, I don't know, an alliance of some sort." Madara threw the pebble across, watching it bounce off the surface of the water, creating ripples as it went, hitting the other side with a soft thud. He smirked.

"Looks like I got one over. Now you're not the only one who got to the other side."

* * *

***says her next fic will be happier***

***next fic starts out with dead children and sobbing mothers***

**...I can explain.**

**So, as you've noticed, this is pretty much set in the same universe but with a different turn (sort of like Wisteria except now I'm _purposefully _straying from canon, lol). I wondered whether I was making Butsuma and Tajima OOC for a while, but seeing as they barely have any personalities to begin with I don't think that's possible unless I make them perform ballet together.**

**Ew. Unpleasant mental image.**

**Moms FTW! They'll end up playing a big role in the plot, heh. Consider this a "what if" fic, I guess. Hope you liked it! Maybe drop a review, and I'll see ya next time!**


	2. Never Enemies

**Never Enemies**

Through the thin walls of their parents' bedroom came the muted shouting of yet another argument. The sky had fallen into dusk outside, three siblings all equally uneasy at the noise from the other room.

Madara ignored it completely, pushing his anxiety aside as he taught a clearly uncomfortable Izuna how to play shōgi to distract him. Next to the soft voice of the oldest sibling explaining to his younger brother all the rules of the game, there echoed the soft yet sharp footsteps of another in the room – like the ticking of a clock.

A minute passed and Madara's patience ended, abruptly putting down a shōgi piece on the board with a loud _clack_ and glaring at the third person in the room. "Kazuki – stop that."

The middle child glared right back but stopped pacing up and down the room nonetheless, crossing his arms with a frustrated frown. In his looks he'd taken more to his mother, like Izuna had also had, though his pale features had something distinctly more harsh and sharp about them. He had the same spiky hair Madara had, though he kept his shorter and messily slicked back – if there was anything he could not stand it was feeling hair anywhere near or hanging over his face and shoulders.

"I'm not going to sit still and pretend everything is alright." Kazuki huffed, walking over to one of the windows instead as he stared outside. Mother's clear dulcet tones had turned into hoarse shouts, father's voice booming through the building as it ricocheted off the walls and through the corridors, almost like an early echo. It ripped through Kazuki's ears like claws.

"I wonder what's gotten into her," Izuna mumbled, to which Kazuki turned his head to give him a questioning look. "I mean, she suddenly wants us to stop fighting, as if it would be that easy. It's insane."

Kazuki glared at him. "She's doing this for our sake."

His younger brother scowled, clenching the shōgi piece in his hand while Madara remained silent. "That doesn't make it less crazy."

"How is it crazy? Do you _want _to be stuck in battles forever? Is that it?!" Kazuki yelled at him, momentarily drowning out the voices of their arguing parents. "I'm not about to live the rest of my life trapped in a stupid war! If you think–"

"They _killed _Minoru!"

The entire house fell into silence as Izuna's shout reverberated through all of their heads, making time's flow drop for an instant before the pendulum slowly picked back up, ticking and ticking.

Izuna sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "First it was Takumi, and then Minoru… there's no way it would work. I can't forgive them."

Kazuki gritted his teeth in anger, opening his mouth for a heavy retort.

"Kazuki, stay quiet." Madara snapped at him, having grown tired of his brother's typically explosive temper. The younger sibling slowly closed his mouth, lips pressed in a thin line as he looked away, back to glowering out the window with his arms crossed angrily across his chest.

"I don't care what anyone says," Kazuki murmured almost inaudibly, eyes fixated on the forest surrounding their small settlement as his rough voice had gotten a much softer undertone. "I don't want to die on the battlefield."

A door slammed somewhere in the house. The familiar rhythm of their father's footsteps passed through the corridor before another door opened and then shut. He'd gone outside. Subdued weeping came from their parents' bedroom.

Madara gazed down at the old, weathered shōgi board. "You won't. I'll make sure you won't." He didn't look up to see Kazuki's reaction, but he could feel the younger's eyes – as well as Izuna's – fixated on him. Whether it was a lie or not didn't matter, he would keep to it either way. He had to.

He didn't know what his mother thought she could accomplish with this as there was no way father would listen to her – and yet she kept struggling. Her health was deteriorating heavily due to the stress put on her body, but she kept on going. Madara couldn't wrap his head around it. Surely she_ knew_ it had to be impossible, yet she kept on trying. Or did she actually believe there was a chance it could happen? Peace for them, finally, after decades of war? It sounded like a childish dream to him – but a nice one either way.

The house was enveloped in a thick, dreary silence. The place he'd once called home didn't feel like one any longer.

* * *

Their meetings near the river, once grown from curiosity, had now become their escape. Both of them knew they had to be careful, yet they'd started seeing each other more and more frequently, all too eager to get away from the bleakness of their everyday lives.

Even the brief periods between battles that had used to grant them some form of rest had been corrupted by the realization that everything was slowly collapsing all around them, like old ruins succumbing to decay. Their meetings, however, were different. They'd train together, they'd talk of their hopes for the future, their ideals and longings and anything else that came to mind in those moments – and they'd find peace, however temporary it ended up being.

It was a vent for the smoke from the relentless flames of warfare; that raging fire that was always consuming, not even leaving ashes behind in its wake. Hashirama did not have to think of how his mother hadn't smiled in weeks. Madara did not have to hear his parents arguing again. They didn't have to worry about upcoming battles, about who could die next, about what would become of them in the end if they kept going down the same path. Those meetings in the afternoons were their only pieces of bright, shimmering brilliantly in the shadow of war with a hopeful promise.

"Hey, you look kind of pale." Hashirama noted on a dull Sunday afternoon, the two sitting at the pebble-covered riverbank, as he stared at Madara's face with a mild frown. His friend raised his eyebrows. "Um… I mean… paler than usual."

The sun was covered by the clouds, which were passing by rather fast, the raging wind indicating it would rain soon. Faint rays were reflected almost dully in the calm water of the river drifting by. They'd both have to leave in a short while, though neither were looking forward to it.

Madara tore his gaze away from the Senju boy, staring down at the water instead. "My mother has fallen ill."

"Oh," Hashirama was genuinely surprised that he'd confided in him so easily this time around. It had to be serious, then. "How bad is it?"

"Bad." The frustration was clear in his voice. Illness was not something you could defeat with a sword – it wasn't something he could've protected her from. He was completely powerless, reduced to watching her condition deteriorate bit by bit each day. All they knew was that it was some sort of heart disease, but there was nothing they could do about it – there was no cure for it. What was certain was that it had worsened considerably, perhaps had even been triggered, by the stress caused by her constant arguments with her husband.

He didn't _want _to blame his father; he was just doing what he thought was best for his clan, and for his mother to challenge him on that was her not only challenging his beliefs but his authority as well. Madara wasn't at all surprised his father had bitten back so fiercely – at the cost of his wife's health. Yet in the end, while an unavoidable consequence, the boy still couldn't forgive him for all the pain he'd caused his mother.

"I hope she gets better." Hashirama said with genuine sympathy, looking more depressed than Madara who was carefully holding his emotions back.

"What are you moping about? You don't even know her." the pale boy responded almost irritably, unable to understand why Hashirama was sulking.

"Yeah but…." Hashirama paused, seeming to consider his words before he spoke them. "I don't like seeing you sad." Madara blinked, flustered by the other's sincere concern and briefly wondered if he really looked that miserable. No one else had noticed – or, at least, had talked to him about it.

"Um… thanks, I guess." he mumbled awkwardly, staring down at his knees, unsure how else to respond to that statement. There was a silence until he felt three gentle pats on his back.

"There, there." Madara turned his head to stare at Hashirama with an irritated scowl as the other slowly pulled his hand back, an apprehensive look on his face. "W-what?"

"Don't do that again. You suck at comforting people."

Hashirama pouted. "I was just trying to help."

"How the hell is a pat on the back supposed to help?"

"It's moral support!"

"Yeah well, I'd rather have medicine instead of useless moral support." Madara replied tersely, looking away again as they fell into a rather heavy and awkward silence, until something Hashirama had said earlier started gnawing at him from the back of his mind. "When you said you didn't like seeing me sad, what was that supposed to mean?"

Hashirama gave him a puzzled look, pulling his knees up to rest his arms on them. "Exactly what it sounded like."

"But why do you care?"

"Why?" The boy rubbed the back of his head with a thoughtful look as Madara waited for an answer. It was such a strange question that Hashirama was lost for a moment, until he decided the best thing to do was to be straightforward. "Well, we're friends, right? I don't like seeing my friends unhappy."

Friends? When had they become friends? Madara tilted his head slightly to the right in contemplation. If they were friends, did that mean Hashirama already belonged to that tiny circle of people he cared about?

Madara pictured it in his head. He tried to imagine what he'd do if Hashirama looked depressed instead; seriously depressed, not fooling around. Madara wouldn't like seeing it. What if he got hurt? That would irk him. What if he got killed? That would upset him. His reactions, he realized, would truly be of someone who cared – of someone who was a friend. They were friends.

Still, the label of only _friend_ was a new one to him. Someone not part of his clan yet still someone to relate to, have fun with, to confide in, to trust – it was an odd feeling, but refreshing all the same.

Friend. It rolled off Madara's tongue smoothly as he mouthed it quietly. _Friend. _Hashirama gave him a confused look, but he ignored it, still tasting the almost-foreign word on his lips, before he scowled.

'_What a ridiculous thought,_' he then scolded himself. _'Reckless, idiotic, completely absurd – we are __**enemies**__.'_

"Madara?" Hashirama said hesitantly when receiving no other response from him, for a moment thinking the feeling was just one-sided.

'_We are enemies,_' Madara repeated to himself slowly, letting the words hang around in his head as it floated through the space of his thoughts.

"D-did I say something wrong?"

'_We are enemies, yet it doesn't feel that way.'_

"Madara?"

'_Well, if it doesn't feel that way, then we're not enemies.'_

"Friends, huh?" A faint smile lit up his features as he finally responded. "That sounds nice." Madara turned his head to glance at Hashirama, and when seeing his elated expression he started feeling embarrassed, looking away to hide his blush. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face."

'_Not enemies. Not yet.'_

"Madara, let's be best friends next, alright?"

'_Maybe even never. Never enemies.'_

"Tch, idiot!"

'_That sounds nice.'_

* * *

Ayane had always been an emotionally frail woman – most of that sensitivity having been inherited by Itama, though Hashirama too had taken after how easy it was to upset her, and at the same time, how easy it was to lift her spirits. Still, she was determined above all else; absolutely relentless in following through with her ideals.

Perhaps that determination was what shattered her in the end.

When her husband agreed to give their youngest two sons a little more time for training before they returned to the battlefield, everyone knew she was only delaying the inevitable. She herself didn't want to see it – so stubborn she was to stick with her decision of not letting any of her children perish that when the first blow came, she nearly completely collapsed.

Kawarama's hands were bleeding from how hard he was pressing his nails into his palms whole way home, Tobirama thinking of how to break the news to his mother as gently as possible while Hashirama remained deathly silent, eyes fixed to the ground in a firm scowl. Their father did not let a single emotion slip.

The worst part of it was that none of them had to say anything for her to understand – she met them in the corridor as they walked in, gaze flitting over their expressions, simultaneously realizing Itama was not with them, and in an instant she was broken like frozen glass.

Kawarama immediately went to comfort her as she fell down on her knees, a heart-shattering cry that was quickly muffled by her hands sounding through the building. Butsuma walked past her, did not even give her a glance as he retreated to his study – yet there was a certain rigidity in his posture starkly different from his usual confident composure.

Tobirama stood off on the side, quietly watching Kawarama trying to soothe their mother – and the older white haired boy felt strangely empty. A blur of movements passing him by made him look up to see Hashirama striding toward the weapon room. Tobirama followed cautiously, and stood in the doorway of the room as his older brother pulled off his armor, placing back his weapons rather unceremoniously and with loud clatter.

"Hashirama?" The younger sibling addressed him hesitantly, wondering what the other was thinking. His brother turned to look at him with a hard stare that quickly softened when meeting his gaze. Their mother's sobs were a torment to their ears.

"I just… need to clear my head." Hashirama replied quietly, averting his gaze as he walked out the room again.

"Where are you going?" Tobirama demanded to know when he saw the other walking towards the back door of the house.

"Just going for a walk. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Don't you think you should stay for a while longer, at least for mother's sake?"

Hashirama gave him a glance as he slid the back door open. "It'll be fine. I won't be gone long." he amended with a faint smile that looked far too sad to be genuine.

"You always say that."

"Huh?"

"You can't just keep running away every day!" Tobirama yelled at him, at the end of his rope.

Hashirama's look darkened as he stared down at the ground, the hand on the back door gripping it so hard that it cracked the wood. "I'm not running away."

"Then what else would you call it?!"

The older boy frowned grimly. "You wouldn't understand."

"You know what, it doesn't even matter." Tobirama decided, having balled his fists without even realizing it as he relaxed his hands again. "You can't just leave, not now." Almost inaudibly, taking a deep breath, he added, "I need my older brother."

Hashirama couldn't refuse that morose look in his sibling's eyes. After a second of silence, he slowly closed the back door, walking over to Tobirama, his own heart throbbing painfully in his chest. "Are you still blaming yourself?"

Tobirama didn't meet his eyes, glaring at his shoes.

"It's not your fault."

His head snapped up at that, angry – at himself, not Hashirama. "He was right _there_! I could've saved him, if I'd been faster, even just a little bit–"

Hashirama gripped his upper arms with an equally frustrated look, cutting him off. "Then you train! Find a way to become stronger, so this kind of thing doesn't happen ever again! That's the only thing you can do right now. Blaming yourself won't help you move forward. You should… no, you _have _to be stronger than that…."

Hashirama seemed then as if he were talking to himself rather than Tobirama, but either way, what he said sounded true enough. Tobirama _had_ to find a way to be faster in the future, more capable, stronger, whatever it took to protect his family.

Itama had been just an arm's length away when he'd been hit with those flames. The blaze of fire had reduced him to a burnt, tiny corpse, skin peeled off and covered in black stains, his face still aghast with a silent scream even in death – impossible to recognize anymore.

The sight had made Kawarama almost throw up as he'd immediately walked away, trembling lightly, while his two older brothers had looked away in visible disgust and horror, the image forever carved into their minds.

Tobirama glanced into the hallway where Kawarama was, with their mother, trying to calm her hysterical cries down but to no avail. Despite her efforts she'd still lost a son; she had to be hurting even more than they were. Tobirama had entertained the idea of a peace treaty with the Uchiha before, but seeing his little brother burning to death in front of his very eyes – heavens, he could still hear his screams – he was starting to think that, at the rate they were going, war would not end until one side was annihilated completely.

* * *

The days after they'd come home, Itama buried and gone like so many others, were the darkest days they'd ever known. Tobirama noticed Hashirama still seemed hopeful for peace, unshakable in his determination– no, if anything, Itama's death had only made him more determined than before. It was all he could hang onto, and Tobirama sympathized with him, yet he found his brother to be far too idealistic.

Kawarama too didn't seem convinced of his oldest brother's dream, though that had more to do with his innate cynicism than anything else.

When a few days after Itama's funeral, Tobirama went out to the small training field right outside of their village to distract himself, he sensed immediately that he was not alone. Initially he'd been hoping he would get some for himself – Hashirama had gone off for another walk that day and Kawarama had resolved to keep an eye on their mother – but he didn't mind the presence of the other person also there.

There stood a young man in the middle of the patch of dirt used for training which bordered on the forest, about six years his senior. The teenager turned his head and smiled when seeing him, waving at him as a greeting. His light brown hair was more messy than usual, a few stray, straight locks hanging over his brightly colored amber eyes which suited his tanned skin perfectly.

His name was Ryūhei. The two of them weren't related by blood – Ryūhei's mother had married into the clan – but Tobirama considered him family nonetheless. He'd often help him create new Suiton jutsu, always bouncing his ideas back and improving them on the details. A teacher of sorts, as he had more experience.

He was also Tōka's older brother, Tōka being a young girl two years older than Tobirama who was one of the _very _few females on the battlefield. Her prowess with genjutsu had been impossible to ignore, and she was remarkably strong-willed, refusing to stay at home and instead actively participating in battles.

"Hey," Ryūhei greeted him with an almost careful smile as the younger boy approached, before giving him a more serious and concerned look – trying to gauge his mental state, no doubt. "I heard about Itama. How are you holding up?" he asked, eyes searching for some sort of reaction on the boy's face.

Tobirama scowled, staring down at the ground as he folded his arms. "I'm dealing with it."

Ryūhei looked away, seeming somewhat conflicted about what to do for a moment. "Well, then, want to go for a round of taijutsu?" he suggested with a mild smirk, though not very happy with changing the subject. The death of a sibling wasn't something you could keep bottled up forever.

The boy shook his head. "No, I have other things to do."

Ryūhei raised his eyebrows. "A new technique?" Usually Tobirama was always up for some sparring, unless he had a new technique to work on.

"Ryūhei, do you know anything about fuīnjutsu?"

"I think the right person to ask that would be an Uzumaki." Ryūhei replied, scratching the back of his head. "What's with the interest in seals all of a sudden? Don't tell me you want to become a sealing master?"

"Something more ambitious than that. Rather, something that'll make me the fastest person on the battlefield."

Ryūhei had gotten used to Tobirama's ambitious streak a long time ago, however, even for his standards, that was quite the statement to make. Then again the boy had always been a realist, so if he thought it possible, Ryūhei would happily believe he could do it, but that wasn't what bugged him.

"Is this because of what happened with your brother?"

Tobirama's lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze harsh. Ryūhei narrowed his amber eyes at this, the sunlight reflected in them giving them a deep orange tint.

"It's okay to talk about it, you know."

"It's unnecessary."

"Look," Ryūhei, a little frustrated, swung the katana he'd been training with up to lean the blunt edge on his shoulder, "I know your father has been spouting nonsense about not showing your emotions, but I'm pretty sure that rule only goes on the battlefield."

Tobirama remained silent, lowering his head as to hide his face from the other, unresponsive to his remarks. He couldn't just pick and choose when to let it all out and when to pull it back in; that he couldn't handle. It would destroy him to swing back and forth – Ryūhei didn't understand, he hadn't seen his little brother die in front of his very eyes, screaming for help as flames consumed him until he dropped down on the ground, reduced to an empty, burnt shell.

A hand on top of his head made him flinch as he stared up at the young man frowning down at him. "Kid, do you honestly think keeping everything repressed will help you become stronger? Make an exception, for just this once, and tell me what you think."

Ryūhei was patient as he waited for an answer, not wanting to push the kid further than he'd already had. For a while, the only thing making a sound was the wind as Tobirama kept his eyes fixed on the ground, until he sucked in a deep breath, and Ryūhei pulled his hand back, and in the softest voice the boy finally spoke.

"I couldn't save him."

"Yes, you couldn't save him – because you are weak." Ryūhei replied coolly, the words like a painful dagger through Tobirama's chest. But they were true. He was weak, and because of that, he couldn't have done a thing for Itama. He was weak and he let his brother die. "So, what will you do?"

To that he answered, without missing a beat, without a moment's hesitation, "I'll become stronger, so this kind of thing never happens again."

"Oh? And how will you do that?"

Tobirama raised his head, finally meeting Ryūhei's gaze with a resolute one of his own.

"Ryūhei, how much do you know about space-time ninjutsu?"

* * *

**MORE DEAD CHILDREN HA HA HA.**

**More on how Hashirama deals with Itama's death (and how his mom deals with it) the next chapter. Those parts are a bit too long (and depressing) to stuff into this one, so you'll have to wait :P**

**I swear to god it will get better at some point, just bear with me here.**

**Anyway, fast update (chapter 3 will be uploaded on Thursday) because on Friday I'll be leaving for two weeks to Turkey so… you'll have to do without any updates for two whole weeks. **

**Hope you liked this chapter, and wow, thank you for all of your reviews just for the first chapter! I'll see you guys on Thursday, love you, bye! **


	3. Perfect Peaceful Picture

**Perfect Peaceful Picture**

She was quiet. The crying had stopped a while ago, replaced by an empty silence and a dead gaze – there was no doubt it had gotten worse. Ayane was not a shinobi; she'd been a simple girl from a small clan whose marriage to Butsuma had always been arranged. She'd never imagined this kind of future for herself, much less had wanted it.

Yet there she was, alone in her bedroom; helpless, powerless, reduced to waiting and watching as her family fell apart around her. It seemed there could only be one outcome to her tale, and she couldn't do anything stop it.

On a clouded, eerily silent morning, Kawarama – who'd taken it upon himself to watch out for her while his brothers coped with Itama's loss in different ways – came to check on her again. At seven years old, he was her youngest now.

"Mom?" he asked softly, standing around near the doorway as she shifted her head the slightest to look at him with her sunken eyes, seeming all too frail in the loose-fitting white kimono that hung around her like a thin blanket. Not even a year ago youth and vigor had radiated off of her as if she were the sun, gazes drawn to her as if she were a beacon in the darkness. But now her fire, too, had been blown out.

"How are you feeling?" Kawarama continued after looking her over with a concerned gaze, walking into the room with a few hesitant steps, unsure whether to approach her. She stared at him for a while longer, before reaching out her hand to him, which he took as he sat down in front of her.

Her other hand reached up to his face, brushing over the two scars on his cheek with her fingertips. His skin had been marred, forever tainted by war. How long until he would join his younger brother in death?

Tears started welling up again. The gentlest one of her children had met such a cruel end, and all there was left to do for her was to mourn. Kawarama held both of her hands and remained silent as she wept, gazing up at her with sadness in his eyes but otherwise no clear emotions on his face. If not for his actions, it would've been hard to discern his feelings.

It had been a mere two weeks. Why wasn't he still grieving? Why weren't his brothers still grieving? Was this what Butsuma had turned them into, reducing them to subconsciously hide their feelings even from _their_ _own mother_?

"Are you up for breakfast today?" Kawarama asked her kindly when her crying had calmed down a bit after a few minutes. She inhaled a deep, shaky breath, slowly nodding. Her son smiled encouragingly at her, giving her hands a soft, reassuring squeeze. Ayane didn't know what she would've done without him; Butsuma had certainly distanced himself from her, probably because he didn't know what to do. Even comforting her seemed to be a task too difficult for him, so used and adapted to battle he was that social interactions took a toll of discomfort and uneasiness.

At least their sons hadn't gotten to that point – yet.

Ayane didn't know how to convince her husband of her idea for peace anymore. Most others she'd talked to in the past, though unwilling to openly show support, still agreed with her about the wars. However, it seemed that it was too late for her generation to fix this mess. Everyone around her age was too buried in traditions; caught in the narrow-minded, archaic way of thinking that had wrought the current chaos upon the world in the first place.

'_No, it's not up to me anymore,' _Ayane thought as she gazed down at Kawarama's face, which had gotten a curious expression at her silence. _'I have to trust them to take care of their own future.' _

"Mom, is something wrong?"

Ayane slowly shook her head, wiping the wetness from her tears off her cheeks with the sleeve of her kimono, then brushing her hand through Kawarama's messy white hair. It was almost identical to Tobirama's, though Kawarama's hair was slightly flatter on his head and a tad bit longer. "I'd like to ask something of you, Kawarama. Would that be okay?"

"Of course," Kawarama replied immediately, eyebrows slightly furrowed. When she opened her mouth again to speak, they heard the front door slide open, Tobirama's voice announcing he was home echoing through the house and a few seconds later he appeared within view, peeking into Ayane's bedroom.

A faint smile graced her lips. "Welcome home."

"What's going on?" Tobirama asked, the atmosphere in the room a peculiar one to him. Strangely serene, for the first time in weeks – months, even.

"Come sit," Ayane replied quietly, and after a second of thought, he obeyed without another word, sitting down next to Kawarama. "I want you two to remember this request well, since it's the only one I'll ever make."

The two brothers who looked so much alike exchanged glances, their red eyes meeting, but they waited for their mother to continue, interest piqued as the woman otherwise rarely asked anything of them.

Ayane briefly bit on her lower lip, wondering how they would respond before finally saying it. "No matter what happens in the future, I don't want the either of you to hold grudges against the enemy."

As expected, they were startled to say the least. Kawarama blinked while Tobirama slowly scowled, trying to understand where this had suddenly come from, and so he was the first to answer.

"Do you think we're strong enough to do that, even after what they did to Itama?"

Ayane cringed, averting her gaze to the floor. She hadn't seen the body – Butsuma had insisted she'd stay away, and from that she knew it had to have been a horrible sight.

"I want you to try and understand them, even if it's difficult. They aren't monsters, they've lost loved ones to these battles as well. But if we keep holding these grudges, and if we keep fighting like this, there will be no end to the hatred until everyone and everything has been destroyed.

"I want a better future than that for you; I want you to find a place of safety and happiness. But you can't do it on your own. That's why you need the other side, to find mutual peace."

Kawarama's eyes were wide, seeming to be deep in thought about what she'd just said – Tobirama, on the other hand, was not so easily convinced, not after all that he'd seen.

"There's no guarantee they think as you do. This could all end in a disaster; we could end up being betrayed–"

"Tobirama," Ayane interjected softly, but in a firm tone, "If you keep thinking like that, nothing will ever change. That's not what you want, is it?"

Tobirama pressed his lips together in a thin line, glowering down at the ground. Of course _some _sort of agreements had to be made, a set of rules had to be established; but this? Trusting the other side so easily with a **peace treaty** after all that had already passed?

Kawarama glanced at his older brother for a moment, before shifting his calm gaze back to his mother.

"We'll find a way." he said, much to Tobirama's bafflement as the older sibling stared, visibly flustered. "We'll definitely find a way to make it work. So mom, please put your mind at ease now, okay?"

Tobirama's tense shoulders relaxed again when he realized Kawarama was saying all of that primarily to try and relieve their mother of all the stress that had been plaguing her for weeks. Still, as he observed the look in Kawarama's eyes, Tobirama could tell his younger brother wasn't exactly lying, but not telling the truth either. He held that glimmer hope in his eyes – the same hope that had crushed their mother and reduced her to this shadow of herself when it had, inevitably, failed her.

"Promise me you'll try?" Ayane asked, a frail smile on her lips, her eyes set in a pleading gaze. She had never looked so fragile before and it broke their hearts to see her in such a state.

"We will, right, brother?"

"…" Tobirama stared up at his mother whose eyes were glinting with barely-suppressed despair, an almost insane look taking over her once elegant features. He couldn't refuse her when she was like that; the last wish of a broken woman who'd only ever wanted the best for them.

"Tobirama?"

"We'll try." the oldest sibling eventually responded, however difficult it was for him.

"That's all I ask." Ayane smiled genuinely for the first time in a long while, wrapping both her arms around her sons to pull them in a warm hug. Kawarama cringed and Tobirama nearly got sick when they felt her bones poking through her skin, evidence of how much weight she'd lost already.

At that rate, she wouldn't last for much longer.

* * *

Hashirama cried that day.

He was alone, the sun burning into his skin as he'd taken his shoes off and was standing in the middle of the slow-flowing river, the coolness of the water reaching to his knees a mild distraction from his thoughts. As he stared into his reflection, he saw a drop drip down and cause a ripple, briefly erasing his face from the smooth surface of the water.

Another drop.

A third drop.

He thought it had started raining until he remembered the sun was shining and his cheeks were wet.

Oh, he _was _angry, but who he was angry at more he couldn't quite tell. He'd failed in his role as an older brother, he hadn't been able to save Itama, hadn't even been able to set Tobirama's mind at ease – that made him angry. But thinking of the ones who killed Itama made him furious.

Hashirama didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the wrinkles his tears made in the river, but something occurred to him then as he stared down.

This rage he felt, if left unchecked, would be much like the ripples in the water. If he took his anger out on other people, if he sought revenge, it would only beget more of the same hatred. It was one of the world's inevitabilities and it was the reason peace could never last.

Even so, right then and there, as he wiped his tears away and the ripples disappeared, he made a promise to himself. He would grow stronger – he would work himself to the bone until he stood on top of the entire world, and lift everyone up out of the swamp of war to stand beside him.

Hashirama was an idealist, however, he wasn't so naïve to think the road wasn't going to be excruciatingly long and littered with corpses along the way. It would be that and more; it would take every ounce of his willpower to get there, but all of it would be worth it.

In a way it was something for him to hold onto. A noble obsession, he supposed, but an obsession nonetheless. Something to throw himself at as his friends and family disappeared one by one, taken by death.

"Hashirama?"

He flinched at hearing that voice and quickly wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, turning his head to the boy standing on the riverbank with brows furrowed in mild concern. Hashirama felt embarrassed at being caught during a weak moment – that had been drilled into him after all. Never show weakness, especially not towards potential enemies.

Either way, he couldn't hide the look in his eyes, and Madara seemed to have a way of reading them like an open book.

"What happened?"

From the tone of his voice, Hashirama knew Madara could tell instantly – _'Someone must've died.'_

Hashirama trudged back towards him, out of the water, avoiding eye-contact as he plopped down onto the pebbles, pulling his knees up to lean his elbows on them.

"My youngest brother died." He didn't look to see Madara's reaction. "The river clears my thoughts up and helps me focus. That's why I came here."

The other boy remained silent.

"I thought maybe it was the same for you too. Do you… have siblings?"

"Yeah." Madara replied quietly, sitting down next to him. "I have four brothers. Or rather, I had four brothers."

Hashirama's eyes widened slightly as he looked over at him. He didn't want to pry, but they'd known each other for a while and he felt comfortable enough to ask. "Did they all…?"

Madara glanced at him, eyes soft yet hollow. Hashirama frowned – it was the complete opposite of how his eyes were set usually; tough yet filled with life. "No, there's two left."

"Oh," They sat in silence with that, the atmosphere getting a bit too depressing for Hashirama. He wondered how to cheer them both up, then remembered the large cliff he'd stumbled on a few days ago. He hadn't gone up there yet, knowing it probably had a great view but wanting to share it with Madara first. He figured it was as good a time as any to show him, so he got up off the ground.

"Where to?" Madara asked, looking up at him. Hashirama grinned in response. "What's with that look?"

"Come on, I want to show you something!"

Madara sighed, getting up and brushing the dirt off his pants. "Alright, but this better be interesting." And they took off.

Halfway there, the road towards the cliff had been turned into a race. Nothing in particular had sparked it – just an exchange in glances and the both of them gradually increasing in speed, wanting to be up front. Madara didn't even know where they were going but he didn't care, not comfortable with following from behind.

The both of them were going nearly full-speed then, jumping from branch to branch, zooming in between the trees, occasionally looking at where the other one was. Hashirama saw the cliff and smirked, pointing at the top.

"Up there!"

Madara stopped watching Hashirama's movements so closely then when he figured out where their destination was, heading off on his own. Hashirama smirked when his rival increased his speed, and kept up – even starting to gain a lead. They finally reached the large wall and sprinted up towards the top. It was clear by then that Hashirama had him beat, reaching the top first with Madara right behind him.

Hashirama's eyes were instantly glued to the view as he walked over the large cliff, the leaves of the forest down below like a blanket covering the landscape – a perfect picture of peace. It was everything he'd hoped it would be. It was where he wanted to build his future.

Madara stood at the edge of the cliff, catching his breath with his hands on his knees. It seemed Hashirama had him beat when it came to stamina. He swiftly straightened his back again, opening his mouth to say something, when he felt the ground underneath his feet fall to pieces because of his sudden movements. Hashirama spun around at hearing the rocks crumble behind him, spotting Madara losing his balance, tipping over the edge with a bewildered look, and instantly shot towards him. He reached out his hand, grasping Madara's as the boy was in mid-fall.

Hashirama, in this brief moment of alarm, used a bit too much force to pull him back, causing Madara to get shoved against him with enough force to knock the both of them down on the ground.

He ended up on his back, Madara's weight pressing down on him, the both of them sprawled out over the ground. Hashirama briefly realized he could feel Madara's wildly pounding heart beating against his own, his body suddenly pleasantly warm with their shared body heat – and he tensed up, finally realizing he'd been staring into Madara's wide eyes the entire time, their faces so close that their noses were nearly touching.

"W-what is it?" Hashirama asked quietly, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks when Madara just kept staring at him. That seemed to wake him up from his trance, the pale boy blinking and quickly getting up off of him.

"…Nothing." Madara murmured, not meeting his eyes. He had the faintest pink blush on his cheeks while Hashirama's were completely red. "Thanks."

Hashirama had almost forgotten what he was being thanked for when he saw the damaged edge of the cliff as he stood up as well. "Oh, um, you're welcome."

There was an awkward silence, both of them feeling rather weird and uncomfortable – and the rest of the afternoon, they avoided getting too close to each other. Hashirama was rather baffled at how one such interaction had turned everything weird. He hadn't been so strangely _aware _of Madara before, but since that moment he couldn't help but watch him more closely.

Though the uneasy undertone remained throughout the rest of the day, they still managed to brush it off and focus on other things – like the view ahead of them. Hashirama relayed his dreams to Madara, even blurting out the fantasies of creating village he'd had for a while; a place where children could be safe and a place for them and their brothers to call a true home. To finally see someone share his ideals made him so giddy with joy he almost felt like screaming it from the rooftops.

When he then grinned at the idea, and Madara grinned back at him, and he saw that smile on the other boy's face, Hashirama's heart fluttered.

He knew then something between them had changed – and he wondered whether it would be for better or for worse.

* * *

**I'm SO SO SO SO SO SORRY for this 1-week-late-update, but the day before my vacation things suddenly got really hectic and I didn't get the chance to edit this properly.**

**After that I just got lazy because of my vacation…**

**But yeah, I hope the tiny cute moment at the end makes up for it?**

**I love all of you guys (though the ones who review have a special place in my heart omg let me love all of you ok) and I hope you enjoyed this one!**

**See ya next week, when I'm back home and can properly update again!**


	4. Dissonant Days

**Dissonant Days**

There was no rest in their house. Ever since that small argument had broken out between Izuna and Kazuki, the two of them refused to get along – Madara stuck being the mediator and breaking them up every single time. It started wearing him out in between having to hear his parents fight constantly, in between watching his mother's life slowly wither away as the woman ended up becoming permanently bed-ridden, in between his thoughts wandering off to the boy on the other side.

After two weeks had passed he'd become completely mentally exhausted, the only moments of rest being those where he would wander off to the river where he'd first met Hashirama; once or twice a week he'd meet him again. Most of the time, however, he'd be alone. Even so, anything was better than staying at home.

"You're just afraid! You're letting your fear get the better of you, just like father always warned us about!"

"Is it really fear, or is it reason?! We don't have any other options _left_!"

"Reason?! You call running away like a coward to some worthless peace treaty that'll get broken anyway _reasonable_?!"

"You know what? You're right! I really am scared – I'm scared to death I'll lose you and Madara and be left all alone! I'd rather try escaping this cycle instead of being stuck in it forever! I'd rather get stabbed in the back tomorrow instead of watch you die today, Izuna!"

Madara hadn't interrupted this time, but had watched them scream at each other, too tired to care and too frustrated to deal with their arguments. Kazuki had silenced their youngest brother for once, Izuna's eyes wide for a moment before he scowled and looked away. Madara's tense shoulders relaxed somewhat, relieved the situation had sorted itself out this time.

Kazuki's seething voice had cooled down when he spoke again after taking a deep breath. Izuna didn't meet his eyes, gaze fixated on the ground in their living room, their mother asleep and their father outside again. Kazuki tried to keep his tone even.

"If mom hadn't convinced dad to put us in the back-up group back then, I'm sure one of us would've died; maybe even Madara, if his mind hadn't been put at ease with us being safe. You heard how bad that battle was, didn't you?

"Mom was scared for us too back then, and dad didn't want to listen to her at first, but she tried – and she succeeded. We're all still alive. Why can't _we _try?"

At Izuna's stubborn silence, Kazuki just sighed and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Madara asked without looking at him, sitting next to the window as he watched it rain outside.

"Upstairs. I'm going to take a nap."

With that the middle brother disappeared, sliding the door shut behind him, leaving the oldest and youngest behind in silence. Madara's gaze shifted to Izuna, who had his brows furrowed in deep thought, though the frustration was also evident on his face.

Out of the three of them, of course, Izuna was the one who listened to their father the most. As such he'd been fed plenty of Tajima's rants on how war was a necessity, how dying for their clan was the highest honor, and that the other side could never be trusted. Perhaps Kazuki had managed to drive a wedge in that self-destructive way of thinking, but it would take more than that to make the very young, impressionable Izuna change his mind.

The boy looked up at Madara. "Do you think he's right, brother?"

"…Consider both the worst and best outcomes for either options, Izuna." the older one responded calmly. "Draw your own conclusions from that."

There was the option to go on with this war, no agreements being reached. The best outcome would be for them to crush the other side – but even then, there would still be new enemies to fight, and who was to say they wouldn't eventually end up as the side being crushed? That, certainly, would be the worst outcome.

There was the option to try and reach out to the Senju. The worst outcome would be a short period of peace after which the treaty would be broken and they'd go back to where they'd started. Still, at least they would know a time of calmness. The best outcome was undeniably what everyone longed for – a long-lasting peace, no more wars between their two clans from that point on.

Madara never told Izuna what to think, unlike their father and every other adult that ordered them around. Madara always left it for him to figure it out on his own, trusting him to find out the answer for himself, and he'd never been disappointed before. Izuna deeply respected and admired him for that – still, with all the things he'd gone through at such a young age, it was difficult for him to accept the answer to this one.

Madara understood and didn't blame him for it. He gave him time to deal with it on his own, though Izuna would probably need another push to admit defeat. After all, Madara himself could never quite get rid of this gnawing feeling of paranoia in the back of his head – how could he expect Izuna accept it so easily?

Even when he'd talk to Hashirama about their dreams for the future, there was always that small voice that told him he was being foolish, that things could never last. He already suspected Hashirama of being from the Senju clan – if _that _turned out to be true, if he _ever _got confirmation of that fact, there was no way they could go on as friends.

Peace or no, Madara would never forget that that clan had killed two of his brothers, countless relatives, numerous friends; the ever-looming danger of losing someone else to them had burrowed itself firmly in his head, holding his mind hostage in its icy grasp.

"Brother? You look tired. Maybe you should sleep as well." Izuna remarked after a while of silence, looking him over with concern.

"No, I'm… I'll be fine." Madara murmured, slowly standing up, feeling a little agitated that the rain was preventing him from going out to the river. "I'll just go check on mother." he decided, walking towards the door.

"Madara?" He stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look at Izuna. "You've been heading out a lot, lately. Where have you been going?"

Madara kept his face free of anything that would give him away, knowing Izuna was trying to look through his mask but failing, scowling mildly at the calm expression on his brother's face.

"Nowhere in particular. I've just been going out for walks to clear my head."

"You always look kind of distracted when you come back, though."

Madara mentally slapped himself for being so obvious. It was true that lately he'd been thinking of Hashirama far more than what was considered healthy, often sinking away in thought when he was left alone for a while. He'd wonder about what Hashirama was doing, whether he was getting just as frustrated as he was, what he would've said or done had he been in Madara's place – it _had _been distracting him far too much.

It didn't help that every time he arrived at the river and he actually saw Hashirama waiting for him, his heart would jump in his chest, something akin to a dizzying adrenaline pumping through his veins, instantly lifting his spirits. It was an incredibly strange and foreign reaction, and Madara didn't know what to do with it.

The days had turned chaotic with all these thoughts of the other boy crowding his head; a dissonance between his everyday life and the moments he'd run away from it to Hashirama. He knew it couldn't last. Nothing ever did.

"I've just been a little tired lately. That's all." Madara responded eventually, sliding the door open. "Anything else you want to ask?" Izuna shook his head reluctantly, seeming to actually want to ask more questions but keeping quiet nonetheless. Madara wondered whether he'd tell father about his worries– no, it was more than likely that he had told Tajima already.

Madara left the room, dreading what was waiting for him as he walked over to their parents' bedroom, knocking softly on the door.

"Come in," came her weakened voice, and he pulled the door open quietly. It was dark inside; too much light gave her a headache. He was grateful for the shadows as the sight of her frail form was like a nightmare in daylight. Madara had never felt this kind of powerlessness before. It was extensive, agonizing, sapping away at his strength one day at a time – he could do nothing to stop it.

He stepped in the room quietly, going to sit next to her futon, her once thick, vibrant hair thinned to a small bundle spread out on her pillow.

"Do you need anything, mother?" Madara asked softly, the outlines of her lips pulling into a smile, most of her face hidden away in darkness.

"No, I'm fine." she replied in her hoarse voice, hand lifting and feebly searching for his own. He took hers, swallowing audibly when feeling how little skin she had, her knuckles poking into his palm.

Even in her condition, she would sit up on the futon with what little strength she had left, glare at their father and argue with him until she started coughing up blood. Even at his uncharacteristic pleas for her to stop she'd simply turn her gaze away with a stubborn look, and the argument would end there.

"Mother," Madara started carefully, "I don't think it's wise in your condition to keep agitating father like this. I know you're doing this for our sake but if this ends up killing you–"

"It doesn't matter." she interrupted him quietly and he clenched his jaw.

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" Madara tried keeping his tone calm, not wanting to add to her stress.

"I won't last much longer whether I keep my mouth shut or not. I want to at least make a difference before I–" she started coughing again, luckily no blood this time, but it left her wheezing, squeezing Madara's hand tightly.

He could barely watch. She took a deep, shaky breath, sweat rolling off her forehead, eyes dulled but a faint smile on her lips.

"Madara, could you make me a promise?"

"Anything you want."

"Please take care of your brothers, and please be happy. Can you promise me that? That you'll do whatever it takes to find happiness?"

Madara pressed his lips together for a moment, looking down at the hand he held – pale, bony fingers intertwined with his quivering lightly.

"I promise."

* * *

Hashirama stared at his ceiling, the sound of raindrops falling on the rooftop gently starting to lull him to sleep as he was lying on his futon, out of things to do for the day. Kawarama was downstairs, practicing his calligraphy. It was a hobby he'd taken up recently to chase away the boredom. He said it helped him calm his nerves, but to Hashirama it seemed like a rather dull activity.

He _would've _gone to the river if it hadn't been for the rain. Tobirama had headed out to train that morning, probably caught in the small storm or staying over at a friend's house by now. Most likely Ryūhei's. Their father was downstairs as well, drinking tea the last time Hashirama had seen him. Their mother actually walked around the house now, still looking drained, but at least she wasn't locked up in her bedroom anymore.

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Hashirama wondered what Madara was doing as he turned on his side with a frustrated sigh, atypically grouchy as he hadn't seen the other boy in almost a week. It had completely messed with his mood, which hadn't gone unnoticed by his other family members. Tobirama especially had gotten rather suspicious of the daily walks he took, but Hashirama figured he covered his tracks well enough.

'_When is this stupid rain going to stop already?' _he pondered with a frown as he glared out the window. _'There's only a few hours left until sundown… I hope it clears up soon. Maybe I'll meet him there today.' _The thought brought a gleeful grin to his face, and he sat upright, suddenly feeling too energetic to keep lazing around in his room.

He'd been going down the stairs when he heard the front door open with a loud slam, a fierce wind blowing through the house and throwing around the papers Kawarama had been practicing on.

"Hey! Close the door!"

Hashirama peeked at the door from the bottom of the stairs, two figures quickly closing the door again, soaking wet as they entered, pulling their shoes off.

"Man, what weather," the taller one uttered with a deep sigh, looking up at Hashirama. Bright amber eyes gleamed at him from the shadows of the hallway. "Yo, how's it going?" Ryūhei greeted him, putting a hand through his wet, light brown hair, slicking it back messily.

"Hi," Hashirama said, a little surprised as Tobirama trudged past him without another word, up the stairs to change clothes no doubt. "I thought you guys were staying at your place." he remarked as Ryūhei pulled off his soaking shirt, wringing it out and then putting it back on again before he stepped any further into the corridor.

"We would've, but Tobi really wanted to go home today. I thought I might as well come along since I have a day off." Ryūhei replied with a shrug – Butsuma then showing his face as he came out the living room.

"Sir," the young man immediately said with a brief but deep bow. "I hope this isn't a bad time?"

"Not at all. How is your dad doing?"

"Good, sir. He asks when he could have that rematch in shōgi you'd promised."

Butsuma snorted. "Maybe once he stops losing so horribly." Ryūhei snickered, getting into a small chat with the clan leader as Tobirama got downstairs again with a set of new, dry clothes. Hashirama turned to him.

"So, how did training go?" Tobirama glanced at him as he walked into the living room, his older brother following him.

"Fine."

"Heh, it's always _fine_. Never great or perfect."

Tobirama rolled his eyes. "If it went _great _or _perfect_ then I wouldn't waste my time training, brother."

"Pfft, you always find something to work on anyway." Hashirama drawled, sitting down next to Kawarama against the low table in the living room as his younger brother was trying to clean up the ink he'd spilled, having accidentally knocked it over when the wind had scattered his papers around. Tobirama sat down across from them, next to Ryūhei and Butsuma. Ayane was in the kitchen, briefly coming out to greet their visitor with a smile.

Ryūhei smiled back, asking her how she was and the like, keeping up a perfectly polite face, but once she walked back into the kitchen the worry showing in his eyes was obvious. He didn't comment on it, however, instead discussing Tobirama's progress with his father, the boy listening in with tense shoulders.

"Oh? He's that far with fuīnjutsu already?"

"I'd say he's a natural. He learned whatever knowledge I had of it within a few days."

"Can he apply that knowledge?"

Ryūhei smirked, pride palpable in his voice. "With little to no effort." he answered, Tobirama's gaze fixated on the table in front of him though there was a little, satisfied smile on his lips for a moment at his teacher's praise.

Butsuma seemed pleased as well, Tobirama relaxing somewhat, until his father turned to him. "I wasn't planning on taking you, but I need to meet with the Uzumaki clan leader in a few weeks. If you want, you can come along; I'm sure they wouldn't mind giving you some pointers on your fuīnjutsu."

Tobirama's eyes widened in surprise, then glinting with a shimmer of excitement. "That would be ideal. Thank you, father."

Butsuma then turned to his oldest son. "You're coming as well."

Hashirama frowned. "Why? And for how long?" Tobirama sent him a sideways warning look at his questioning their father, but Hashirama ignored it, not being in a good mood to begin with.

"To arrange a match for you, of course. It shouldn't take longer than a week."

Hashirama scowled, clearly displeased, but what wise enough to keep his mouth shut this time. The arranged marriage would probably never happen anyway – he'd make sure it wouldn't once he became the clan leader – but what _really _bugged him was that he wouldn't be able to see Madara at all for a week. He was then _really _praying the rain would stop so he could go out to the river and possibly see him again, since he'd be gone for a week soon.

"Doing calligraphy now, Kawarama?" Ryūhei noted cheerfully to ease the tension in the air. The youngest brother looked up, nodding sullenly.

"I kind of… messed it up." Kawarama mumbled, pulling up the ink-stained paper and showing it, an embarrassed look on his face when Butsuma sighed at his clumsiness.

"Accidents happen, I guess. Could you try writing something for me?"

"Sure."

Hashirama listened to them talk about a little longer about calligraphy while Ayane served more tea, quickly growing bored and instead watching Kawarama use his brush on a new sheet of paper. His thoughts drifted off to Madara again for a while, until he noticed something – or rather, the lack of something.

The rain had stopped.

He shot up so quickly everyone at the table ceased their conversation to stare at his sudden movement.

"Going somewhere?" Butsuma asked, furrowing his brows.

"…I just really wanted to take a walk." Hashirama mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. "I'll be back in a bit!"

His father gazed at him a moment longer before he nodded then, and Hashirama grinned widely, taking his leave with hurried steps. Butsuma watched him closely, before he turned to Tobirama who'd been talking to Ryūhei, interrupting their conversation.

"Yes, father?" Tobirama asked at his meaningful look.

"He's been going out a lot lately, hasn't he?" When his son nodded, Butsuma narrowed his eyes. "Do you know where he goes on these walks?"

"No; he says it's just to clear his head."

Kawarama and Ryūhei listened in silence, thought Ryūhei was far more nonchalant about it than Kawarama, who just seemed concerned.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Butsuma questioned his second oldest, who slowly shook his head. "Hmm…."

"What's wrong?" Kawarama asked softly, putting his brush down as he gazed up at his father, not understanding why he seemed to be so bothered by it. Butsuma didn't answer the boy, turning back to look at Tobirama as Ryūhei kept the casual air around him thick, almost languidly looking over what Kawarama had written for him.

"Tobirama," Butsuma spoke – now even his wife listening in from the kitchen at the grave tone of his voice, "I want you to follow him."

* * *

**I bet you guys can guess what'll happen soon… hehe :P**

**Did any of you catch the tiny reference to Wisteria?**

**Thanks for all the great reviews, I hope you liked this chapter, even if it wasn't very eventful! I'll be flying back home on Friday so chapter five should be up by late Sunday or Monday.**

**See you then!**


	5. Clouds of Doubt

**Clouds of Doubt**

"Hey,"

Electric currents of excitement pulsed through his veins the moment their gazes met, the widest smile flourishing on his face like a flower in full-bloom while the other just stared, eyes wide with black glazed over as if in a bewitched daze. Soft breezes brushed the fallen leaves away, scattering them across the ground still moist from the cold autumn rain; his face reflected in the tranquil water of their river, ripples of the yellowed leaves floating to land in the water, contorting the image.

"Hey!"

Madara's lips broke the slightest in a faint curve – barely strong enough to be called a smile, as he crossed over to the other side, landing in front of Hashirama with soundless feet touching down on the pebbles.

Hashirama's own grin faltered. Up close, there was no sign of happiness or ease in Madara's features. Just a small acknowledgment at seeing his friend, the already dim smile fading from his face entirely.

"How's it going?" Hashirama asked more timidly than he'd initially wanted, the cheer disappearing and making way for concern.

Madara shrugged. "Just fine." Hashirama figured he was lying – but the pale boy slinked away into the shadows of the forest without another word, apparently not intending to spend time near the river.

His friend followed him, wondering what could've happened to make Madara suddenly appear so glum. But he didn't ask. Hashirama wondered why the words wouldn't come out of his mouth, why they were stuck in the back of his throat, hanging on for dear life and trying desperately stay inside.

Was it that he didn't want to push him away by asking such questions? Madara had never enjoyed discussing his personal life – at first Hashirama figured it was because he didn't want to give away what clan he belonged to, but he was starting to suspect that the other was simply a very private person.

Even the occasions where he _had _told Hashirama about things that had happened to him, things he'd gone through, he recited the events with a peculiar coolness. Almost as if he wanted to distance himself from them. It was clear he didn't enjoy talking about it all, and Hashirama had developed the strange urge lately to keep him in high spirits; after all, it made him happy to see the other happy as well.

That's why, Hashirama supposed, he just _couldn't_ ask Madara. It would take away his smile, and that's the last thing he wanted to happen.

"What do you want to do today?" Hashirama asked instead, keeping up a cheerful tone as he walked beside Madara into a small clearing of the forest, where the boy stopped and turned to face him.

"Let's have a spar." he replied – almost indifferently. Hashirama knew something was off then, as Madara usually was never this _cold _about sparring or having any other sort of match again him.

"Are you sure you're up for it?" he blurted out before he could stop to think about how annoyed that would make Madara – which it did.

His friend scowled at him as Hashirama took a few steps back for distance, getting ready for their match. "What kind of question is that?"

"I just thought you looked distracted, is all–"

"I'm not _distracted_ – even if I was, it's none of your business. Actually, shouldn't you take advantage of that in a battle?"

"But this is just a friendly spar, right?"

The two of them were silent, the cold in the atmosphere seeming to intensify in threefold as the thought hung in the air, unspoken, until Madara replied. His voice was apathetic, almost business-like, chilling Hashirama to the bone.

"It won't stay that way."

They both knew what he meant, and suddenly Hashirama didn't feel like sparring anymore. Madara noticed his hesitation and anger flashed inside his eyes, shooting forward – fist aimed at his head like an arrow aimed at the bulls-eye, Hashirama only narrowly dodging, knuckle grazing his cheek as he shifted to the left.

"Are you always this spineless?! How did you manage to survive so many battles?!"

'_He knows.'_

Madara's eyes were flaring in a way Hashirama hadn't seen before, fists lashing out with a near-flawless precision, only fueled by a deeply-layered rage long having brewed inside of him and now slowly leaking out to rear its ugly face.

'_I know it too.' _

"Madara, enough!" Hashirama tried, blocking his high kick with his arms, stumbling back a few steps before swiftly regaining his balance and moving to the right to evade another fist. "You're not thinking right, let's just talk about this–"

"There's nothing to talk about!" Madara yelled back at him, fury blazing with a vengeance as he threw it all over Hashirama in his screams, pausing in his attacks as the both of them took a moment to stand and truly _look _at each other.

"Madara…." Hashirama didn't know what to say, so he wanted Madara to say it for him, to wipe away the questions in his head. What was bothering him so? What had brought him to this meltdown? Was there anything he could do to help?

"You don't understand anything." Madara spoke, fists balled and trembling lightly with suppressed emotions which were pouring out from his eyes. "I always make promises I know I can't keep, and this is the only road I have left to happiness. I _promised _her – but how do I know this will work?!"

Hashirama was silent as he gazed at his friend with wide eyes, the despair so foreign that it left him lost in speechlessness. They'd talked about their one dream for peace so many times – never before had they stopped to wonder its likelihood of succeeding. Hashirama had always assumed it would just _work_, he'd never had a single doubt about it – and this had blinded him, leaving him unable to understand Madara's doubts.

Still, even if he didn't understand, he wanted to put him at ease and comfort him, but he couldn't think of the words to accomplish it with. For some reason Madara always had a way of choking him up.

"Hashirama, you realize how insane this is, right?" Madara spoke, quieter this time, as he approached the boy who was nailed to the ground, eyes glued to Madara's. "I know who you are."

The words struck a dagger through his lungs, cutting off his breath in one fell swoop – and yet, he'd known this would happen. He'd known – _they'd _known, that this issue would be unavoidable.

"You know who I am, as well."

Hashirama didn't want to face it yet. He wanted to go on in a façade of blissful ignorance for just a while longer, he wanted to keep the one piece of brightness in his life free from the corruption of war for just a bit more.

"Madara, you don't have to… if you just tell me what's wrong…."

"What's wrong? Can't you _see _what's wrong for yourself, Hashirama?!" He stood right in front of him now, staring him in the eyes without a glare but with a strange desperation instead, which scared Hashirama far more than his anger ever could've. "I'm betting the happiness of my brothers on someone whose family has killed mine – can't you _see _how completely idiotic that is?!

"I promised my dying mother I would keep them safe and my great plan for doing that is growing up and creating a _village _with _you_, of all people!"

Madara's voice cracked as he grabbed Hashirama's upper arms, fingers digging into the skin as if clinging to a lifeline; a last way out. Hashirama's eyes were wide in shock, his heart cringing at hearing Madara's words, aching for this boy so similar to him yet so different.

"Tell me this will work, Hashirama." Madara said in a far softer tone, closest to pleading he'd ever gotten in his entire life. "Swear to me you'll do whatever it takes."

Hashirama couldn't take the distance between them anymore, stepping forward and in one swift movement wrapping his arms around Madara's back, pulling him in a tight embrace, his chin resting on the boy's shoulder which had tensed immediately at the contact, though he didn't fight it nor push him away.

"I swear, I'll do everything I can – but I can't do it alone. I need you standing beside me, okay?" Hashirama murmured, partly wishing he could see Madara's expression – but he felt it too important to keep holding him for now. Madara's chest was heaving against his own with unsteady breaths, the boy in turmoil.

"What are you doing, you idiot?" Madara eventually whispered, flabbergasted at Hashirama's actions. "Let me go–"

"Not until you say you'll stick with me until the very end!"

Madara started pushing against him to try and take his distance, but Hashirama wouldn't release him, stubbornly clinging to him. "I can't make a promise like that!"

"Yes you can!" Hashirama insisted, unwilling to let this one go. "Even if we stop being friends, even if we end up hurting each other, we _have _to go through with this. The happiness of your brothers depends on it right? Well, it's the same for mine."

Madara was silent for a while, his breathing slowly calming down as he took the time to think about it. "Even when we turn into enemies… still going through with our foolish dream…?"

"Even then. Don't you remember the time you told me to hold onto my ideals and become stronger? Did you forget about that, Madara? No matter what happens, we can't let it make us stray off our way to peace. _No matter what_."

"…How can you be so determined about this?"

Hashirama smiled meekly, his grip around Madara's body weakening. "It's the only way out I have left."

Madara didn't say anything more. For a moment, Hashirama feared he'd already been hurt too much to go on with this, but then he felt arms around him, first gently, then turning into a firm hug, and his heart skipped a beat, and there was a knot tied in his stomach, and suddenly breathing became so much harder.

"Okay," Madara said almost inaudibly. "Okay, no matter what happens."

They stayed like that for a few seconds longer – until the embrace suddenly turned into something else other than an understanding between good friends, morphing into a foreign tingling like butterflies fluttering. They both pulled away immediately, the whole atmosphere having turned awkward again like the day on that cliff, and avoided eye-contact.

Hashirama scratched the back of his head, gaze flitting over the ground, up to Madara's shoes where it lingered as he thought of what to say, the blood rushing to his cheeks.

"So uh…." Madara was the first to speak. "Are we going to finish that spar or what?" Hashirama looked up at his faintly blushing face, and grinned widely.

"Yeah, bring it on!"

The spar was exhausting, both of them having renewed energy from having that much needed talk. It was clear to them then, that even if they were from two completely opposing clans, if they kept thinking about how they were supposed to be enemies, they would never be true friends.

Madara seemed far more relaxed after that as well, back to his condescending, bossy self in no time, but something about his approach towards Hashirama had gotten a softer edge to it, leaving the other wondering if they'd grown even closer.

The thought could only make him ecstatic, leaving him grinning even after Madara kicked him in his side.

"What are you smirking about?! Pay attention!"

Hashirama could only smirk back in a response, though he was still wildly confused about what it was about Madara that made him so ridiculously gleeful, what had changed to make him feel so cheery the whole time.

After the spar – which Hashirama had clearly won though Madara got him back by knocking him to the ground with a perfectly aimed rock – the two of them sat in front of the river, watching the sun start floating down again, indicating they'd have to leave soon. A morose feeling settled over Hashirama, leaving him sulking as he stared down into the water.

"Alright, what is it _now_?" Madara said with a sigh, having become used to his bouts of depression and too tired to yell at him this time, that is until Hashirama took too long to respond. "Would you stop brooding and just tell me?!"

Hashirama pouted. "I won't see you for a week."

"What? Why?" Madara immediately demanded to know.

"I'm… I have to make a visit, or something. My dad wants me there so he can find a match for me."

Madara sat up straighter, staring at him with a frown which Hashirama could see from his peripheral vision, though for some reason he felt really embarrassed about discussing this with him.

"Like an arranged marriage?" Hashirama nodded. "Tch, how stupid. Why don't you just refuse? My parents tried that with me as well and I simply rejected all their proposals."

"I can't really do that, since arranged marriage is really important in my clan. That's how my parents got together as well."

"Oh," Madara was still scowling, leaning back on his hands. "Well, do you know when you'd have to get married?"

"I think in a few more years or something." Hashirama replied, not adding it would be when he took over as the next clan leader. "Though I'm a special case, so I can probably avoid it. But until then I guess I'll have to put up with it."

Madara didn't reply to that, Hashirama finally glancing over at him. He seemed to be thinking deeply. "What kind of girl do you think she is?" Madara then asked, gaze aimed at the ever darkening sky.

"I hope she's like you."

'_WAIT–'_

"Uh, I-I-I meant t-that, you know, s-since we, um, get along and all, that… um…"

Madara gaped at him, almost as flustered as Hashirama was at what had just come out of his mouth. What was that even supposed to mean?! Since when had he started thinking about Madara in _that _way? He wasn't even a girl! Why did he compare him to one?

'_No, wait, that's not the issue here – why the hell did I just say that?!' _Hashirama thought, hiding his blushing face in his hands. _'I'm such a dork!' _At Madara's lengthy silence, Hashirama peeked at him from in between his fingers, catching a glimpse of his shocked face. _'Do I… do I _like _him? But he's a boy! Can boys like other boys?' _It wasn't like he'd never heard of the concept of falling in love before, but with the same gender? It was so foreign to him that he was lost on what to do with it.

Madara cleared his throat awkwardly, staring down at his knees. "I… I guess that's a compliment, right?" he muttered, the darkness having settled in hiding his deep blush.

Hashirama blinked, having not expected that response. "Uh, yeah… it's a compliment. N-not that I would want to marry _you _but… I-I mean, it's not that you're ugly or anything, you're actually really… if you were a girl I'd definitely– actually, wait no, no, no, no, that's not what I meant, I, um, uh–"

"Hashirama, just… just shut up before you make it worse."

"O-okay… sorry."

They sat in silence, acutely aware of the little distance between them, before they both finally realized that night had already fallen.

"Damn! It's this late already?!" While standing up, meaning to push himself up off the ground, Hashirama's hand briefly brushed against Madara's – and he jumped. "Sorry, I didn't see your hand!" he exclaimed far too loudly, Madara glaring at him embarrassedly as he stood up as well.

"Would you stop acting like a girl?!"

"S-sorry–"

"And stop apologizing already!"

Hashirama pressed his lips together, Madara sighing and looking away to hide his flushed face when the boy started pouting again.

"Don't give me that look. It's just one week. No big deal." his pale friend mumbled. "Just don't die during that time, alright?"

Hashirama smiled widely at Madara's minute show of concern, nodding. "Same to you!"

Madara turned his back on him and crossed the river again to his own side, leaving to go home as Hashirama stood there for a while longer with a goofy smile on his face, holding the hand that brushed against Madara's, before he realized he was starting to daydream and smacked himself against the head.

"What the hell is wrong with me…?" he wondered aloud, turning to walk the way back home – not noticing the pair of eyes watching him in the shadows.

* * *

**I decided you deserved some cuteness before the inevitable break-up, so yeah.**

**STOP CALLING ME SATAN OK.**

**Reviewers I love you infinitely! Can't say when the next chapter will be up ****because feelings****. See ya next time!**


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